


Textures

by CavannaRose



Series: Walking Dead Fics [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Deliberately vague OC, F/M, Fluff, Kisses, Mostly buildup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 09:07:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11460444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavannaRose/pseuds/CavannaRose
Summary: I apologize for this one. It’s almost excessively long, and a lot of build up for not too much payoff. Prompt words were “girl” and “kiss” for pairing Merle x Anyone. I kept the female character deliberately vague, so picture her however you’d like.It’s not good… but it’s done.





	Textures

Tap. Tap. Tap. The incessant sound of her pen bouncing off the edge of her notebook echoed off the cement walls of the prison, and it grated on his last nerve. Bad enough that the rain was drumming away overhead, he didn't need her rattling off a counterpoint in here with them. He never hesitated to cause a scene when things weren't turning up Merle Dixon, but he didn't want to scare the wee rabbit away, just wanted the damnable tip-tapping to halt. Enough was enough, and a man could only put up with so much when quarters were this close. He crossed the space between them, large, calloused hand coming down on top of her dainty fingers, quieting all but the sound of the storm outside. "Listen girl, it's bad enough the whole damned world's gone nutso, how's about you don't drive me plum crazy in here to boot?"

Red raced attractively across her face, heating her cheeks and disappearing beneath her collar. Merle's eyes followed the spread of colour with interest, his expression stating oh-so-eloquently that he wouldn't mind finding out how far that blush spread. She braced herself for the expected lecherous comment, and it was almost worth it just for the shock on her face when none was forthcoming. Catching her eye, Merle gave her a wink and a throaty chuckle as he finally pulled his hand away, her pen caught in his thick fingers. "I'll just hold on to this for a mite, girl. You want it back, you come find me and maybe let me see them pages you're a.ways scribbling away at."

She watched him go, nose scrunched up in confusion. He'd never been that nice to anyone, as far as she could tell, not even his own brother. Did he really want to read her writing? She bit her lip, watching him saunter off to the corner to harass T-Dog. Would she really consider letting him look at her silly scribblings? Still, she couldn't exactly run out to the store and get more pens, and that one was erasable! Not like those crummy blue pens from junior high either, it erased clean. Like magically so, though she was sure there was actually some scientific explanation for it.

Two nights later, she was in the kitchen-type area, heating the contents of a rusted can of Spaghettios. The interior of the can had been blissfully rust-free, but as she stirred the reddish gloop she couldn't help but miss real spaghetti. With meatballs, meat that wasn't squirrel. She was so damn sick of squirrel. He came up behind her on surprisingly silent feet, startling her as he leaned over her shoulder. How did he manage to sneak about in those big old work boots, on these cement floors? The man was a bloody ghost when he wanted to be. Not touching her in any way, he reached out and dipped a finger in her pot, swirling it around before withdrawing it and licking the tomato sauce off the digit. She didn't know why, but she couldn't look away, and a familiar heat was creeping up her neck and spreading towards her ears. "Could be hotter, girl."

He chuckled again at the flustered noise she made, adding to her agitation. There was just something animalistic in that laugh, it thrilled her way down deep inside in a way that was both exciting and confusing. He winked at her and withdrew himself from her personal space, clearly noting her blush before he left the kitchen. She spent way too much time watching that firm backside walk away from her, it was starting to become a problem. Why did she keep staring? What was wrong with her head? Biting her lip, she pulled the food off the stove and poured it into a chipped coffee cup, stirring it as she contemplated the situation. Curiousity demanded she find out what was happening, common sense told her that man was Trouble and she should just let it be.

A few more days passed, and she was itching to get her hands on her pen again. She was almost ready to risk exposing herself (emotionally speaking) to Merle just to get it back. She hadn't shown anyone her writing since well before the world went to shite. Some days she woke up before the dawn shifts to walk the walls by herself, listening to the horror of the undead kept at bay. It was one thing to work your shifts, but if you didn't go out there and remind yourself exactly what was out there, life inside the prison ran the risk of becoming ... well, "normal" didn't quite cover it, but maybe routine? Still, she didn't want to accept that this was all there was to life now, so out she went, checking for weak spots, staring through the gaps, swinging her fire axe over the fence to fend off the occasional walker. She wanted to keep it visceral. To remember why they were stuck there. To remember how many didn't make it. You'd think the end of the world would be hard to forget, but it was bloody amazing what a human could adapt to.

Turning around the corner of the main building on her way back for breakfast, there he was. Merle was leaning against the frame of the door, eyes barely open in the early morning light. "All clear out there, girl?" His voice was still husky, that thin film of sleep clinging to every syllable in a way that made her flush red again. What was he doing to her? More importantly, why was she so powerless to resist? Gulping she nodded her head, eyes fixed to a spot on the ground near those damnable boots. She'd stared at them so much she could almost tell where he'd been by the dirt on the toes. "All clear. Yeah." She skirted around him to get through the door, skittish as chipmunk on a railway track, before practically running away once she made it past him. His laughter followed her down the hall, deep and dark and full of promise, the kind of laugh that almost made her change her mind and go back. She still needed her pen.

It had been over a week now, and to pass the hours she usually spent writing she'd started helping out in the garden. It was hot, dirty work, but it took her mind off certain things, and certain people. She had mixed feelings about the garden. On one hand it was a symbol of hope. They could grow food. They could sustain themselves. On the other hand, how long did they expect to be here? Was this it, was she going to live out the rest of her life keeping zombies off the lawn of a correctional facility? She sat back on her haunches, wiping the sweat from her brow. What she needed was a hat, that sun was coming down something fierce today.

The world went dark for a second just as the thought threaded through her brain, and she pushed the brim of the magically appearing cowboy hat up out of her vision to see a familiar pair of boots just off to her right. "Sun's fierce out here," he shrugged when she actually managed to drag her eyes up to examine his face, not even staying to enjoy the flustered blushing that overtook her at his statement. She petered off as he moved farther away, accepting the fact that she was just going to have to enjoy the view and move on with her life. Sometimes being socially awkward was hell, the limited company offered by the prison just compounded the issue.

A few nights later she sat up on the roof of the garden shed, listening to the sounds of the prison residents settling in for the night, muted by the heavy heat and darkness. She didn't want to go in right yet, sleeping in the cells was so unsettling, even after all this time. Quiet as an alley cat he pulled himself up on the roof beside her, a restrained chuckle escaping him as she shot up, startled. Settling in, he reached across her lap and dropped her pen in her hand. "It's been two weeks, so I figure them scribblings must be awful private if you haven't come for this yet. We ain't got much of our own left in this world, it ain't fair for me to take what ya did manage to squirrel away."

She didn't know what to say. His voice was soft, almost like... was he apologizing? To her? It certainly sounded like he was. A minute ticked by in silence as she tried to process what had just happened. He seemed to be waiting for something, but when she still hadn't said anything, he shrugged and moved to get up. She stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm, realizing in that moment that this was the first time she'd reached out to touch anyone since the plague came. Was it the same for Merle when he'd taken her pen? No. Of course not. He had his brother, after all. She was letting her mind wander, though, and he was looking at her with confusion. "Merle..." she struggled to find the words to express everything that was roiling within her, but all her skills of a writer fled in the face of this rugged conundrum. Exasperated with herself, she offered up a weak "Thank you."

Chuckling, he settled back in, leaning on his elbows, looking both pleased and comfortable. "Will ya at least tell me what it is you keep scribbling?"

She was grateful for the forgiving light of the moon, because it hid how brightly her cheeks burned as she watched him out of the corner of her eye. "Stories." She whispered, fighting to put some strength in her voice as she continued. "Reactions to things that happen. Stories about the people we meet, about us too. What we were before, what we might be in the future..." It was no use, and her voice trailed off, how could this be anything but boring to a man like Merle Dixon? Honestly, it was embarrassing enough without the silence stretching between them. She had to learn to keep her mouth shut.

It felt like forever had passed before he finally spoke up, his voice gruffer than normal. "Folks like Rick in your stories?"

Biting her lip she looked away, burning with the awkwardness of this whole exchange. "Sometimes." She admitted.

It seemed like he chewed on that answer for a moment. "My brother?" he asked again, quieter.

"Once," she confessed, staring at her hands, afraid of what he was going to ask next.

"An' me? Am I in any of them scribblings?"

He wasn't looking at her anymore, and she couldn't judge if this was a good or bad thing at all. She wished the roof would collapse and swallow her up. Shifting uncomfortably, she put some distance between them, between herself and the question. She was pretty darn sure her face was going to burst into flame it was so hot. "Yes," she whispered, looking anywhere but at Merle.

He let out a short bark of a laugh, reaching out to gently cup her cheek, turning her face until she looked him in the eye. From the smile he wore, he must not have hated her answer. "I might just have to insist on seeing some of them scribblings if they're about me, girl." Panic filled her eyes, but as soon as she tried to look away he released her, settling back into his harmless, relaxed position while she gathered her wits from their scattered corners. She couldn't see the crinkles at the corner of his eyes as he grinned at her hand-wringing. "Naughty stories, ain't they?"

"Y-yes, NO! ... Maybe..." she spluttered, clasping her hands together awkwardly to avoid wringing them any more.

Laughing he pushed himself back up, hopping off the roof of the shed in a graceful motion she could never mimic. From the ground he turned back to wave at her, almost imperceptible in the darkness. "Y'all come find me if ya ever want to make any of them stories come true, girl."

She watched him leave, until the black of night grew too thick to make out his figure against the prison building walls. Satisfied that he was gone, she fell back, sighing in relief. It was nice to be able to breathe again. She grasped her pen tight, pondering the few stars visible in the sky. Would she ever understand what was going on here? Rick walked by on patrol, poking his head over the edge of the shed roof to check on her. "You should get back to the building, it's late. Want me to walk you?"

With a wimpy little laugh she slid off the roof, almost landing on her face as she lost her footing. Ever the gentleman, Rick caught her, holding her as she steadied herself. "I think I can manage, Sheriff. It's not like anyone's going to rob me of my one piece of gum and a ratty notebook. Not here, anyway." Tipping his hat to her he went off to continue his rounds, and she scampered back off to the building. She had a few more ideas to scribble about.

In her cell, she fished out the stub of a candle and handful of matches she had claimed for herself, sighing in contentment as the blank page fell open in front of her. Finally she could work through some of these muddled feelings and thoughts trapped in her head.

 _He spoke to me again, today. His presence is even more intimidating in the darkness. There's an element of threat to it, but also a sense of safety. He's like some kind of wild animal that's decided it might trust you, but it's still poised to tear out your throat if you prove unworthy of that trust. I thought for a moment when he reached for me face-_  

She tapped her pen against the notebook, trying to gather her thoughts. She wanted this to come out right.

_He was so careful with me, almost a gentleman in his own, rough way. His hands. The callouses were rough as sandpaper against my skin, but they cradled my face as if it was something fragile, something he might accidentally shatter. I'd never seen him so cautious, it made my heart pound like a jackhammer. The air between us was so thick I imagined I could taste him on my tongue. I wonder what he tastes like? Cigarettes and whiskey? I don't know, but I can't imagine he doesn't know how his touch affects me by now. It's electric. It's embarrassing. What am I going to do? If he knew how many times I've imagined kissing him, would he find me pathetic?_

She sighed, leaning back against the cool wall of the cell and blowing out her candle stub. There wasn't much of it left, and it was going to be a hard negotiation to get another. The Sheriff was on another of his 'We can't waste resources for selfish reasons' kicks. She let her mind drift from him to images of the coarse redneck with the surprising gentlemanly streak. She had so many half-formed thoughts about him, but she didn't know how to capture them quite right, it wouldn't do to get it all down and not do the complex man justice. There was a rawness to him, but also that thread of hidden tenderness she sometimes saw hinted at in his eyes. He certainly was a puzzle, maybe even the most interesting one of the group.

The days kept plodding by, and whenever she could she found herself taking up tasks near Merle Dixon. Whenever he'd catch sight of her diligently working within line of sight, he'd crinkle the corner of his eyes at her and whistle a pleasant little tune. She could tell he was amused by her obvious fascination, but was it possible that it pleased him as well? Wherever she went she wore the dirty beige cowboy hat he'd dropped so unceremoniously on her head, and when he saw it coming, he'd get a twinkle in his eye. She was certain of it.

Another week passed, and most of the residents of the prison were working outside somewhere, enjoying the milder weather that had hit them. Merle strode up to Rick with purpose. "We're runnin' low on supplies, Daryl and I'll go on a run to get more." His short, aggressive statement immediately caused Rick to bristle, and from her vantage point barely a stone's throw away she held her breath. Rick and Merle just did not like each other, and sometimes, like now, she was sure Merle antagonized the Sheriff on purpose. She couldn't for the life of her figure out why, maybe because his brother kept drifting towards the other man?

The Sheriff shook his head, his distaste for the man clear on his face, but his voice carefully reasonable. "Daryl and that crossbow of his are needed here. Take Glenn, or T-Dog even."

Merle snorted, and she braced for some kind of racist retaliation. She knew he had it in him, he'd said some pretty horrible things before, but he scanned the area, seeing her sitting there, watching him. "Don't you dictate to me, boy. I pick my own damn team." He gestured in her direction. "I'll take the girl. She's fast, good with that fire axe she's been carrying around, and more likely to listen to the fucking redneck then your bunch o' liberals."

She was stunned, not just by his picking her, but by the fact that Merle managed to talk about other people and the most unreasonable word he used was liberal? Maybe he was mellowing. She realized both Rick and Merle were still looking at her, and blushing she scrambled to her feet and rushed to stand beside the antagonistic man who kept invading her dreams, waking or sleeping. Rick's gaze pinned her, the weight of his assessment making her feel like some kind of criminal. He definitely had cop eyes. "You don't have to go with him if you don't want to, we don't do things that way around here."

"NO!" she interjected, a little too loud, a little too quick. "I'd like to go with him! On the run I mean..." Her face flamed red in an instant, and she could hear that low chuckle escaping from Merle at her side. Rick shot him a dirty look.

"Fine, but Merle? You step out of line and you're out. No three strikes, I cut you a lot of slack for the sake of your brother, but you make sure she gets back here in one piece." He ignored the dismissive snort Merle let out, stepping closer to her. Fishing his pistol out of it's holster, he handed it to her butt first. "Just in case."

She noticed the way his eyes slid to Merle when he said it, but she was just chuffed to get a firearm for once. First checking that the safety was on, she dropped the magazine to see how many shots she had, even popping the chamber to make sure there was none there. The approval practically radiated from both men, and she allowed herself the smallest smile as they nodded in unison. Even two such dichotomous creatures as these had common ground.

Climbing into the pickup truck beside Merle felt like a thousand high school first dates all rolled into one. She was a bundle of excitement and nervous anticipation. What did going on a run with Merle entail? What would happen? Would they see many Walkers? Would they find everything on the list Maggie entrusted to her? Would Merle regret his decision to bring her along? She could barely contain herself. "You keep bouncing like that, you're gonna distract the driver."

She jerked her head up, stilling her nervous shifting as she examined the side of Merle's grinning face. At least he was smiling, maybe he wouldn't toss her out and make her walk back to the correctional facility. "I... well... I just..." she stammered, blushing hotly.

"I swear girl, there's fire engines jealous of them colours you always turn." That was it. She was dead. D. E. A. D. That teasing grin, the way her stomach fluttered every time he called her girl, it was all too embarrassing. How was she supposed to think about shambling corpses and amoxicillin under these conditions? Settling back into her seat, unable to respond to him in anything that resembled words, she did her best not to bounce anymore. The world was ending, she didn't really want to die in a car crash with the object of her unrequited affection. Thankfully, he broke the silence. "When we're out here, I'm the boss. Do what I say, no questions. I give that uppity Sheriff a hard time, but I ain't looking to get you killed. Place wouldn't look so pleasant without you."

A compliment. She'd received a compliment, and not a lewd one either, from Merle Dixon. And an apology... sort of. The world was going all cock-eyed, and she couldn't resist it anymore. She just had to ask. "Merle?" She waited until he grunted an acknowledgement, she wanted to be sure he was listening. "Why didn't you kiss me the other night? When we were up on the shed roof?"

Silence fell between the two of them, and she worried that somehow she'd actually managed to offend him. A clear spot of road, with good all round visuals appeared up ahead, and Merle pulled over to the side of the road, doing a quick scan for walkers before killing the engine. She trembled a bit, anxious suddenly in the quiet, breath coming faster than she'd prefer. An actor, she was not. He looked at her for a good long while, and finally she gave in, turning to meet his unflinching gaze. "Maybe I don't talk nice like some of them fellas around here, but Merle Dixon doesn't go where he hasn't been invited real clear-like."

The air felt thick with potential between them, and she swallowed, uncertainty in her eyes as her cheeks caught fire once more. Looking down at her fidgeting hands she tried to say something, anything, but it got caught on the lump in her throat. Still he waiting, and the impact his gaze had on her was palpable. Her nerves were going to get the best of her if she didn't say something. Finally she looked up, meeting his gaze with a pleading expression in her eyes. "That's right pretty, girl, but ya need to be real clear what you're askin' for. I don't want to go where I ain't wanted and then have a big ol' ruckus raised about it."

There was vulnerability there, unexpected in the gruff man. She sensed a story, an old hurt, one that he wouldn't appreciate being pried into. This was on her, she had to take the initiative here if she wanted something more from him. "Merle..." her voice shook, but she dug into that iron will she saw in him, used it to strengthen her resolve. "Would you kiss me? Like, really kiss me?" She raised her eyes to his, caught the flash of lust in his gaze and felt that thrill run up her spine again.

"It'd be my pleasure, girl. C'mere." Half lifting her, he helped her cross the centre console to straddle his lap, rough fingers brushing across her forehead, before settling a calloused hand on the back of her neck, drawing her towards his face. She melted into his touch, letting him be the leader here, after all, she had agreed that he was the boss outside the walls of the prison.

The kiss started tentatively, a gentle brush of his chapped lips across her own. His stubble scraped across her chin, then her upper lip, making her gasp a little. He angled his head to the side a bit, kneading the muscles at the base of her neck as his tongue demanded entrance to her mouth, hot and wet and a little strange. Her breath warmed the air between them as she sighed her capitulation, drowning in the kiss he offered, pressing her chest against his own as he supped at her mouth. He tasted like old cigarettes and cheap bourbon, but to her it was like ambrosia. It was so intrinsically male, so potent, that her head spun.

Perched on his lap she could feel exactly how much he was enjoying the kiss. In what seemed like too short a time, he pulled away, his teeth tugging sharply at her bottom lip for a moment before release. She sighed, eyes closed and let the momentum of that tug draw her face to his chest, where she rested her cheek, listening to the beat of his heart, almost as fast as her own.

Merle exhaled loudly, grinning down at her and mussing her hair affectionately. "Woooeee, girl. If that's how you kiss I really hope ya ain't done with ol' Merle." He placed another kiss, this one innocently on her forehead, helping her climb back off his lap and into her own seat. "Careful of the goods there, girl." He teased as she slipped a bit. Once she was settled he blatantly adjusted himself, no hint of shame. "We ain't safe out here, so we two are gonna get the work done and head back. Once we're there girl," he caught her gaze with his own, pleased by the dreamy look she was trying to shake out of her eyes, "When we're done with this business out here, old Merle is gonna ask to continue whatever this is between us. Try to keep them brains unscrambled enough to say yes or no."


End file.
